


Universe: Wizard of Cowdenbeath

by BlastedKing



Series: Universe: Law of Fire [3]
Category: Gloryhammer (Band)
Genre: Angst, Death, Psychological Trauma, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:41:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28406427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlastedKing/pseuds/BlastedKing
Summary: Deep beneath Cowdenbeath there stands a wizard tower, long abandoned by it’s master. It stands silent now, dreaming of a friendship once grown and crumbled in within its walls.
Series: Universe: Law of Fire [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764028
Comments: 41
Kudos: 12





	1. Scion

* * *

Mezchinhar was a magical place. 

Mezchinhar was also a dreadful place. 

With its unearthly light, stuck in the endless nothing, a strange place where no place should be. Unnatural in the context of any universe and yet build in its image. Once when time came into existence, there had been numerous of these places built, providing shelter for those created to walk time in a timeless space, the infinite nothing between universes. But many of these places and the universes they cared for were now lost to them - once forgotten, never able to be found again. Quite wondrous and mystical in that regard. The mere idea of the amount of universes and knowledge lost able to drive the most jaded scholars in Mezchinhar to their knees. 

“-therefore, we will grant you the opportunity to once more pass on your knowledge-”

Build on the godly dream of great galactic order. A concept ingrained into them from creation. An idea really, that there could be order brought to the chaotic existence of universal life. A conquest that would first come to a halt when time itself stopped existing. 

There was Chaos.

And there was Order.

Only one of them was natural but neither was good or evil.

“-find him most helpful, as he has proven himself exceptionally-”

There was no concept of good and evil native to Mezchinhar. There were no considerations of morals either. There couldn’t be morals without a concept of good and evil. At least that was how it used to be. As they had learned to walk time, learned the meaning of these words, Order and Chaos had been perverted to take meanings that never applied to them in their original form. Chaos was not inherently evil nor was order inherently good. Nor vice versa.

“-implore you to take this opportunity serious-”

Zargothrax blinked lazily, dragging his thoughts from his philosophical musing with a low sigh as his gaze focused back on the wizard speaking to him since an eternity. A wizard with a name Zargothrax didn’t bother to remember but probably should based on the fact they hadn’t been reintroduced. A wizard as bland as the rest of this place. Static, safe and boring. He was positive that his words were of great importance, at least the determined look on the wizard's face would suggest so, but he just spoke without saying anything of note. 

Hence he had seen no reason to listen. But he had done so for long enough now.

“If you want to get someone to keep an eye on me, why don’t you just say so?” he asked with an utterly unimpressed look on his face and a flick of his hand that made the wizards of the committee fluster as he just cut them off mid sentence.

“Zargothrax, we assure you that this is not the reason, nor the purpose of this Scion. We know you prefer to keep to your own, we just want to give you a chance to connect with someone at your side again.” 

“How kind of you. Thank you.” He smiled, the sarcasm was so badly hidden that his tone wouldn't pass as genuine thanks even if one tried to hear it that way. Of course, no matter what they said, the Circle wanted to have their eyes on him, and this was sure one way of getting that. And really, Zargothrax did not particularly care. He would take in this Scion, he would be decent to them because the young wizard probably had no idea what they were really used for, and he would stick up with it till he could send them on their merry way again and call it a successful education. No harm done, the peace kept. 

And there people called him a contrarian.

“You will meet him outside, he is already waiting for you.” They ignored the sarcasm if they even bothered to acknowledge it in the first place. Zargothrax nodded. All as expected. 

A couple of decades, maybe a hundred years, to get back to form a young mind didn’t sound too bad. It might make for a welcome change. A chance to do it right this time, too. 

These wizards may talk a lot of empty air but in one regard they had been right - he had kept to his own for a very long time now. Truly alone and suffering for it, by his own choice no less. It was the reason he actually had even considered this request seriously. He wasn’t as jaded to doubt some company to talk freely with might do him some good. Especially of the kind that, maybe, wasn’t yet fully indoctrinated by ohh-great-galactic-order. They wouldn’t be able to fill the void the loss of his Warrior had left, but it would be at least something. Someone. 

Some not very heartfelt goodbyes were exchanged before Zargothrax left the committee room and even if the wizard wouldn’t have been the only one standing and waiting in the empty hallway, he would have stood out like a sore thumb as exactly the young wizard he was. A young wizard who had probably never in his life, may it been already several hundred or thousand years long, set foot outside of Mezchinhar. 

His wishfull optimism faltered a bit as he saw how stoically stiff the young wizard stood before him, greeting him. He literally stood to attention, and Zargothrax could have sworn he had almost saluted him. It would have been amusing if only it wouldn’t remind him of his Warrior. 

“Grand Wizard Zargothrax. My name is Ralathor. It’s an honour to be assigned your student.”

He mustered the young wizard named Ralathor from head to toe. The stark lack of style was expected, the black robe nothing but functional, the blue cloak volumeless and sad hanging down from the tall and thin frame. Mezchinhar had its way to wither away any sense of the dramatic before it could even take root.

A stoic gaze in the black eyes and not a shred of nervousness, the posture ridiculously straight and propper, downright militarily. The tone of voice; calm and respectful. At least he seemed already well adjusted to walking in his probably first additional part. That was… if it was his first.

Zargothrax frowned lightly. “Did we meet before?” he asked as he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had seen the face somewhere already. He was downright sure of it. Only briefly, but somewhere.

“No, Sire. Not that I’m aware of,” Ralathor said almost solemnly and Zargothrax understood why when he added, “Though before I became who I am now, I had been a Soldier at Kilchoan. As I've read, you had been the commanding officer at the battle.” 

Kilchoan, of all places, but at least it explained his own faulty memory. Many wizards had lost a part of their life in that battle - he had been one of them. The ridiculous irony not lost on him that they both might have met and interacted before, but neither could remember it.

“Indeed,” Zargothrax answered, quite able to relate to the sense of discomfort of considering an existence that preceded one’s self and not having any recollection of it. He saw it clearly in Ralathor's face. Knowing that at one point, he had been considered not more than a tool, an effective drone, but with no given agency. 

Well, either way, this wasn’t the time to consider the soldiers fighting their wars nor ponder over past battles. Whether or not they had met before was of no relevance either, because Ralathor wasn’t who he had been back then. Back then he would have been nobody. Now he was his student and that was all there was to it. 

And they had a lot of work to do if he ever was to get this ridiculous stiffness out of the young wizard. Zargothrax sighed and almost felt sorry for the puzzled look of worry in Ralathor's face. 

“Is there a problem, Sire?” 

“No. Follow me, and listen. A few rules here to make this work. Are you listening?”

“Of course, Sire.” Ralathor quickly walked after him.

“First of all, drop the Sire or I’ll flay you alive. You’ll get only one warning!” 

“Noted.” 

They were in full stride when Zargothrax effortlessly opened the portal before them and they promptly passed through it.

“Secondly, think before you speak, and if you do, speak true or be quiet.” 

They arrived in the wizard tower momentarily. The staggeringly stark difference to Mezchinahrs cold, distant design was the first thing that took the young wizard by surprise. His first look of earth, and he almost stumbled as his eyes darted around the hall they just entered, fully taken by its rustic charm weaved seamlessly with the magical architecture of the wizards of yore. The light warm and inviting, wood, metal, stone, gold and splendor catching the light of fixtures and panels, their steps softened by a dark magnificently woven carpet that spread the entire hall. When Zargothrax spoke again his voice no longer echoed from the bare walls of Mezchinar, but lost itself in heavy drapery and between pillars reaching three stories tall.

“Welcome to Cowdenbeath. Are you still listening?” 

“Yes! Of course. Speak true or be quiet,” Ralathor quickly repeated, catching back up to him. “Cowdenbeath? We’re not in Auchtermuchty?”

“I had to move. As an addendum to point two, be sure to speak your mind. I’m your teacher now by title, but I’m not your master, I’m not your lord, you're not my servant. If you can't voice your own opinions, I have no use of you and you can turn around right now.”

“Understood. Move why?” 

“That is not important now.” Zargothrax stopped in his tracks, turning around, Ralathor almost walked straight into him. And at that moment Zargothrax saw that this student of his was not shaken by the tone nor words directed at him, on the contrary, he seemed almost satisfied. Maybe this could really work. Maybe he wasn’t as bland as his first impression had led him on to believe. 

“Alright. Is there a point three?”

“Yes.” Zargothrax squinted downright suspiciously at him. “Thirdly: What is your opinion on Unicorns?”

“Unicorns, sire?”

Zargothrax raised his finger before the young wizard's face. 

“That was it, your first and only warning.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, this one!  
> Been sitting on this since over half a year - but it did it some good, it grew quite a bit in that time. Unfortunately Ligeia wasn’t available for beta and edit this time around, so you’ll have to deal with a couple more mistakes than usual a less of the flowery language. x)  
> With this one we jump quite a bit in the past, exploring one part of Zargothrax and Ralathor's backstory. As we are all aware, they don't really see eye to eye in current time, so do not expect a happy end here. Things will turn quite tragic, ending in a rather somber end all together.  
> But for the first few chapters the world is still fine.  
> These are 18 actual Chapters - the last three after 18 are Epilogue chapters that I probably all post within a week once we reach them.  
> I really like this one and I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I do! ❤️  
> New Chapter as always every Saturday 7 pm CEST/CET!


	2. Pillory

They reached the market square and were greeted with a mob of people. The working man and woman gladly took the chance to leave the fields rest and chores undone for a short while to find some easy entertainment in the town's center. Curious eyes glanced from the windows around, and chatter filled the air. 

The crowd was rowdy, ecstatically so as justice was being served. Those that spotted the man they called the Wizard of Auchtermuchty and the stranger seen so frequently with him as of late, stepped respectfully aside, before focusing back on the center of the square. The wizard had been in Cowdenbeath for a while now, but names given usually were hard to get rid of and Auchtermuchty was close enough that people understood and remembered where it came from. 

It was rare that the presence of a wizard was mostly ignored by the common folk, especially the royal and wonderful appearance of Zargothrax, so curiously Ralathor tried to spot what the commotion was all about as they approached. He was taller than most people here, and over the heads of the peasants, he saw a man standing in the pillory. A pitiful display of a broken man who once must have stood high and proud, his body that of a man used to hard work, but whatever strength he once might have possessed had vanished behind teary eyes and unkempt hair. 

Quiet for a moment, they stopped, and just witnessed the display of shame on the man while his crime was still told to the masses. 

Calmly he watched the constable who had spoken the sentence leave the man to the people’s mercy. Ralathor had barely listened to what he was accused of and, frankly, it didn’t matter to him. He didn’t even flinch when the first thing was thrown at the man who could only pull a face and try to move his head the centimeters to one or the other side to avoid the incoming projectiles. 

He glanced back to Zargothrax, and he was surprised to see a slim smile on his face. 

“Does this amuse you?” 

“In a way,” the old wizard said, almost cheerful, tilting his head a bit as he considered his words. “With their kings and capitals, gods and churches - it’s all very orderly, is it not? But you only need to pick at the curtain, just lift it a finger's width, and they still very much enjoy throwing rotten fruits at each other because the other was mean to them.”

There was to equal parts pity and a strange sense of affection in those words, neither of which Ralathor could yet relate to. Maybe he was still too young for that after all. Once again he noticed the curious glances of the humans near them, as they spoke in a language they couldn't understand - and when they met his gaze they more often than not quickly looked away again. Not all eyes were friendly, but that also didn't matter to him. 

He looked back at the man in the pillory. Foul garden products had not been all that had been thrown at him, a thin trail of blood was dripping from a nasty gash on his temple. If it ended here the man should consider himself lucky, whatever hit him there might as well could have killed him by accident. 

“This is order,” Zargothrax said, continuing his musings. “If you do something bad, something bad will be done to you. What do you think? Is that right?” 

Ralathor looked back at his teacher, frowning slightly. “It is justice. The agreed-upon moral code of this land - there is no right or wrong here for us to judge. It just is.” 

Zargothrax chuckled. “Oh, you’re getting too good at avoiding a decisive answer. You’ll become such a pain in the ass to deal with.” 

“Excuse me?” Ralathor frowned, but his frown softened at the other wizard’s smile. Of course, he was joking, but maybe not as much as would be appropriate. 

“Come now, promising Scion of mine, let us not linger with these worldly quarrels, but search out the mystical place of learning we are destined to return to!”

Ralathor rolled his eyes but could not help a slim smile as he followed the dramatic wizard off on his grand speech how they were on their absolutely unspectacular and normal way to the wizard tower beneath Cowdenbeath, basking in his student's attention. At times he had the feeling that was his sole reason for being here, to pay him the attention he sought. 

Zargothrax’ reputation had preceded him and Ralathor had been taken aside more than once after he had uttered his particular preferred choice of teacher. And it had always been the same song. Praising Zargothrax for his abilities and accomplishments in the past, but always ending with words of caution and suspicion, as most seemed convinced he was untrustworthy after what happened at Kilchoan. 

But in all honesty, Zargothrax was a great many things, but hard to read and understand he was not.

“Do you know him? The man at the pillory?”

“Oh, yes, Lawrence? The former smith, good company if you keep the drink from his hand. Since his wife died and the smithy burned down, he’s become quite insufferable when drunk,” Zargothrax answered freely, adding with a click of the tongue, “I’m not surprised he ended up there. He had it coming.”

Ralathor nodded. The concepts of grief, anger and regret were not foreign to him, even though they were still just theoretical ideas he understood on a technical level. He would be, of course, quite capable of feeling these sensations himself, however, so far he had no reason for it. He had simply not found anything yet to put this great of a value on as to grief its loss when taken. So for now he could only observe with mild interest their effects on the human mind and how drastically it could shape their actions. 

“It was his own fault, really. Lawrence, I said, I’m a wizard, not a god damn veterinarian, but no, just looked at me like I’m speaking Halein.”

“Excuse me?” 

“His horse! It was sick. He asked me to look at it, like I’m some kind of witchdoctor. Told him to put it down but, no, he couldn’t afford to, he needed it, the same old song. Thing went wild a few days later, kicked his wife straight in the chest and she dies, he’s a mess, is drunk and, wouldn't you know it, somehow manages to blow up his own forge.” Zargothrax' hands went wide as if he just had finished a stage play, presenting before the audience as he ended his tale. “And why? Because he didn’t listen to me.”

Ralathor nodded in quiet understanding, he felt a faint sense of sympathy for the man, but not enough to occupy much of his thought. It was after all inconsequential to him. Instead he was merely slightly amused over Zargothrax’ almost theatrical way of expressing himself, and the rashness of his words. 

Based on only the short time he had now spent with Zargothrax he did already understand how some might found him abrasive. But the untrustworthiness other wizards spoke of Ralathor hadn't seen any proof of yet. If anything Zargothrax was exhaustingly honest, always saying exactly what was on his mind. If he wanted to say or do something, he would. And he would do so without thinking too long about it. 

It wasn’t hard to imagine how this may have caused Zargothrax some troubles in the past.

They had left the busy main road and Ralathor followed the other along the narrow path between two houses. Soon they reached a small courtyard which they entered through an iron gate. The two wings displaying the masterfully crafted sigil of the unicorn. And now Ralathor wondered if they had been made by the same man he had seen put to shame moments earlier.

The Courtyard, more of a small garden, was all there was. There wasn’t another door or path out of here. But it was away from any curious human eye. A courtesy really, to not unsettle the people of Cowdenbeath with them appearing or disappearing in front of their eyes.

“What happened to the tower in Auchtermuchty?” Ralathor asked as he closed the gate behind them. 

Zargothrax shot him a glare that seemed to want to set him aflame. “Nothing  _ happened _ to the tower, the tower is right here.” 

Ralathor watched Zargothrax open a portal. “Oh, you moved the entire structure?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“There was… a containment breach...of sorts.” 

“Would you care to elaborate?”

“Absolutely not. Just thinking about it frustrates me.” Zargothrax said briskly and Ralathor knew that tone already well enough and decided to postpone further inquiry into the topic for now.

Just moments later they both stepped onto the smooth floor of the tower's entrance hall. The portal behind them closed and with that the tower beneath Cowdenbeath was again almost completely cut off from the outside world. 

Buried deep beneath the town it was impossible to reach for any human - well, nearly impossible. Ralathor knew there was only one natural, not magical way inside the tower. 

And that was through the ancient tunnels.


	3. Tunnels

In the eerie cold shine of the magical light following them over their heads, they walked through the darkness of the ancient tunnels. 

Ralathor's eyes were drawn in peak interest to the murals appearing in the light, reading its stories and appreciating the sheer scale of the structure they were passing through. In the dim light the tunnel's ceiling was shrouded in darkness, only the walls seemed to stretch endlessly before them, chiseled directly into the stone in perfect angular geometry. The other half of his attention was dedicated to Zargothrax who told him about the tunnels.

"You can go from the tower directly to most of the main cities for example, however, these tunnels precede most if not all of the structures above ground. Not all ways will seem logical. Not all will have a destination. They are like veins under the land, weaving over and under each other with an almost organic randomness to it."

"How far do they spread?" Ralathor asked, taking his eyes from the architecture, looking at Zargothrax who shrugged slightly.

"The dwarves have marked ways from here all the way to Aberdeen. A wizard has once claimed to have found a way even to Achavanich. But that one has not yet proven true and the wizard in question did not find his way back - though of course  _ he  _ could port back. Humans tend to get lost down here - if you leave the beaten path you will stumble over some skeletons sooner rather than later."

"Don't the dwarves ought to have maps of these tunnels?"

"Some. But most of these tunnels are even older than their oldest records."

"They haven't built them?"

"Maybe they did, some ancient predecessors of them, maybe they didn’t. But they've sure made use of them. Prettied them up some too, leaving their mark," Zargothrax said appreciatively nodding to the murals. "But you can find tunnels deep within that are barren of any artistic touch."

"With how long we've been here one would think we'd have mapped these out my now." Ralathor mumbled more to himself and Zargothrax scoffed.

"Feel free to."

Ralathor did understand the dismissive tone and really his question as to why there was no map wasn't really a mystery. It didn't lack them in time, but incentive. They were wizards, every place they wanted to go a mere portal jump away, they had no need for structures like this. But still.

“It is one thing to read about these things, but once you actually see them you start actually questioning the history behind it. I knew these to be here, but I never really thought about their origin. Nor the scale,” Ralathor admitted. “But isn’t it a bit risky to just be able to walk into the tower through here?” 

Zargothrax gave a disgruntled grunt that made Ralathor raise his brows in amusement. 

“What?” 

“It is. People rarely wander around down here, but -  _ that  _ is what happened in Auchtermuchty actually. Damn dwarven caravan strolled right into my cellar, almost stole half of what was in it,  _ did  _ drink half my wine and got rowdy when I finally threw them out by threat of fiery death. And lo, before I knew it there were peasants just showing up whenever they felt like it. It was infuriating.”

Ralathor smiled as the mysterious move of the tower was unexpectedly revealed as a mere inconvenience. “And here I thought you're a man of the people.” 

“Sure. When  _ I  _ go to them.  _ Not  _ when they pester me in  _ my _ tower! For crying out loud, there were entire groups of pilgrims just squatting in my basement at some point, carting their sick with boils and pestilence into my beautiful tower! The livestock was the worst, oh you can't imagine the stench. Should have thrown that entire dwarven caravan into the sun when I had the chance. But no. No, foolish old me thought bribing them to keep quiet would do. Taught me, that. Next person showing up at my tower unannounced get's spaced!”

Ralathor just listened to his teacher talking himself into a frenzy with a light smile. 

They continued their path for a while, then, when he was sure Zargothrax' irritation over the memory of the Auchtermuchty incidence had calmed down, Ralathor said, “I’ve wanted to ask you about the battle at Kilchoan. But I’m not sure it’s appropriate to do so.” 

Zargothrax scoffed. “Appropriate. If I ever hear you use that word in my presence again I’m throwing you out.” Then he frowned slightly, despite his strong stance on appropriateness, it was a topic he would  _ actually _ rather avoid. But he said, “What about Kilchoan? Besides words written somewhere that battle should hold no significance to you.” His tone may have been a bit harsher than he would have intended it to be.

Zargothrax met Ralathor’s eyes and he saw that he quite well took the hint, and blatantly chose to ignore it. "I've been looking at some of the transcriptions available to me and was startled by how little information there was."

"I told you not to lie. As if you hadn't done that the moment you must have figured out where your origin lay."

"I did not specify when, didn't I?" 

At that Zargothrax smirked lopsidedly. His weak attempt to dodge the topic having failed miserably. "Very well. What's the question?" 

"As it is recorded, the battle was won, however, the circumstances were questionable, to put it mildly, and the losses excessive, almost absolute."

“Ralathor, if you want to ask me what happened there, or to the Soldier you used to be, I don’t know. You know, that I don’t know. Nobody really does.” 

“Yes, I  _ do _ know that.  _ But, _ do you really remember nothing?” Ralathor watched him now with the same curious intensity he looked at everything having intrigued his interest. Zargothrax hadn’t expected to become the subject of his studies himself - how very flattering. Briskly he said,

“The chaos disrupted the very foundation our communication is built on. We were completely cut off.”

“But were you?” Ralathor dug in deeper. “I’ve read accounts of wizards recalling… feelings, sensations. Not memories per se, but impressions, from the Warriors, that might have made it through the interference.” 

A sour feeling rose in the pit of his stomach. Ralathor's questions were just asked in genuine curiosity, but it reminded him too much of the ordeal that had followed that dreadful battle. 

“You’ve read what happened, so I know that I’ve been prodded and poked with these questions extensively afterwards. Believe me Ralathor, there is nothing beyond what's in the report.”

How very hypocritical of him. Scolding Ralathor for a lie that hadn’t been one while he himself bent the truth. It was true that he really didn’t know what happened, but another truth was that the report wasn’t telling all. Especially not to a wizard so young and low in rank as Ralathor. 

The extent to which his loyalty had been tested, the few vague " _ impressions _ ", as Ralathor called them, ripped straight from his brain,  _ that _ information only the Grand Wizards were privileged to see. Maybe Ralathor suspected as much. And also that Zargothrax was keeping something from him. At least that was the expression Zargothrax could read clearly in the dark eyes. A sharp one this one. And it probably didn't help that he knew himself to be a dreadful liar. Ralathor didn't even say anything and yet this silent questioning of his words was irritating him to no end.

Zargothrax stopped in their little walk through the tunnels and Ralathor followed suit, turning towards him. His young student wasn’t taken aback by the frown on his teachers face.

“What do you expect to find out? If I tell you that, alright, I actually do remember something, or at least I think I do. Nothing more than a faint sensation of absolute dread, probably in the face of certain death. If I go so far to tell you that I think I remember a sensation of desperation? What does it do but shape the view you have of me to a less flattering one?”

“I don't think it would do that,” Ralathor said calmly, but with an undeniable gleam in his eye over having been right in his assumption after all. “The circumstances were extraordinary. I do believe a great many wizards faced mortality in that battle for the first time.”

Zargothrax met Ralathor's eyes. There was no stopping him.

“The more curious it seems to me that since the loss of your Warrior in that battle, you have not been whole. You’re alone. Which seems quite risky to me so I am wondering if this decision has anything to do with these-”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Zargothrax turned, starting to walk again, heading back to the tower. Ralathor had to hasten his steps to catch back up with him. But he didn’t keep quiet. He usually was so good at that.

“It isn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable,”

“I’m not uncomfortable. I’m irritated.”

“But I do find this subject absolutely fascinating. And I do also wonder-” Ralathor paused for a short moment, considering his words. “If it’s at all comparable to what I’m experiencing.” 

At that Zargothrax finally looked, even when only briefly, back at Ralathor, his steps slowing down just a bit, his frown softened. “What do you mean?”

“From what I gathered, who I'd been before may have survived the battle in some capacity. The Soldier's designation however was listed under damages. But I don’t remember anything about it.”

“Who knows how many battles he's been at. He was returned to draft point, nothing unusual about that." 

“Yes of course, I do know that, too." Ralathor nodded. "But at some point, it was decided to make him a wizard. And even though I shouldn't have any recollections of the Soldier I'm almost certain that I do. As I said, no memories, but impressions. And it's just that one, Kilchoan, none of the others before. Of course, I'm not the Soldier, but he's still there, and he will become my Warrior one day - and I'm curious to see if that would strengthen this - feeling I have."

Zargothrax would believe it. After all, hadn't that been the first impression he had of the young wizard. That he was still that Soldier somewhere inside of him. Ralathor continued on his thoughts,

"Do we really lose those memories once we had them or are they still there, existing and not existing at the same time? Just that, when we try to see them, they are not there each time. Are we just looking incorrectly? Does the fact that one wizard sharing one singular consciousness within several parts entangle ourselves across dimensions beyond what we are aware of?"

"Seems you found your topic for your Masterium," Zargothrax said dryly, not wanting to dampen the curiosity, but exhausted of the topic. A topic many great wizards had pondered over already with a lot of research behind it - but he was being an awful teacher right about now. “But I think you’re reading too much into it.” 

“Says the wizard religiously reading prophecies each morning.” Dry sarcasm slipped through Ralathor's collected composure. That was happening more and more often as of late. A dry comment here, a sarcastic quip there, never mean spirited, though often terribly judgmental, but nevertheless refreshingly honest. It suited him.

“I'll pretend I didn't hear that.” Zargothrax frowned but he was relieved that Ralathor wasn’t taking his dismissal too hard. “Let’s not talk about this any longer, It tires me.” 

“As you wish.” Ralathor said with a nod and the unshakable certainty and patience of a wizard knowing that he had an eternity left to find the answers to his questions. And Zargothrax smiled lightly. 


	4. Emporium

The very moment he followed Zargothrax through the portal, Ralathor felt like his every sense was violently assaulted and he staggered almost as he tried to keep up with his teacher's confident stride. 

It was obvious that none of this was new to the old wizard, but Ralathor-

He took a deep breath and instantly regretted it as he felt the heavy smell filling his nose, his lungs, even his mouth as he could literally taste the oppressing smell. And it wasn't any-one smell, it was all of it. There was rust, metal, iron - images of human blood came to mind and he doubted it was very unlikely here - but then there was also a flowery sickly sweet note mixed in with harsh herbal tones, a mouldy, woody underline and through all that a biting chemical stink barely covering the sweat and grime of the mass of people and creatures Zargothrax now led him through. 

And they not only smelled, but they were also loud. He had been at markets before, but earth was peaceful and young. And this wasn't earth. Above the voices and shouting droned music and announcements over rustic speakers, shouting into the deaf masses. At least Ralathor couldn't understand how anyone could bear this onslaught of noise any other way but deaf. 

The verbal advertisements were accompanied by bright signs and flickering panels, a rainbow of bright colours drenching the world in a diffuse haze that hung in the smoke and steam above the people, almost able to cover up the muck below. It was such a dizzying difference to the medieval slowness of Earth and the sterile peace of Mezchinhar he was used to that he barely perceived any of it.

There was laughing, shouting, somewhere he thought he heard a scream, that blasted music droning in his ears, the low hanging polluted air burning in his eyes. More than once a shoulder or elbow tackled him mindlessly from the side, making him flinch away, as people passed him and desperately he tried not to lose the other now. 

And between all that, he was still marveling at the fact that this tightly packed crowd of people really made him extremely uncomfortable. Maybe going so far to say that he hated it. Which was a novel sensation. 

Ralathor tried to focus his mind more on the perfectly calm and quietly uneventful memories he received from his Wizard in Mezchinhar, but even that barely helped as the Wizard too was in turn overwhelmed by the memories of this place.

"Zargothrax!" 

Only by a miracle, it seemed possible that the other had heard him and halted, turning towards him, a questioning frown on his brows. The question he didn't need to ask was obviously as to why Ralathor would want to stop right here.

Ralathor didn't. But he also feared he would lose himself in the crowd should Zargothrax not slow down. Ralathor had not yet found the words to convey these thoughts, still distracted by the sensational overload, as he saw the expression in Zargothrax' face shift.

"Are you alright?" Zargothrax asked, stepping closer to him so he didn't have to shout against the noise.

Ralathor swallowed hard and nodded.

"You don't look alright. I'm sorry, I didn't think about it, this must be overwhelming."

"A bit," Ralathor admitted. 

"Come. We're almost there. It's quiet there." Unexpectedly Zargothrax took him by his arm, he flinched briefly, but then let Zargothrax drag him further through the crowd, no longer following the path straight down but diverging to the side. 

They left what must have been the main road and were swallowed by the darkness of the sidestreets. The street was still packed with people at first, but the noise did become more muffled.

After a while, there were fewer people too. Only the smell stayed as strong as before. 

"You get used to it," Zargothrax said as he let go of Ralathors arm.

"I very much doubt that." Ralathor muttered, unconsciously rubbing the very spot Zargothrax hand had been moments ago. Still trying to wrap his head around the nonchalant way Zargothrax had grabbed him as if it was nothing. Probably like a human would, but not a wizard.

"Come now, I like this place. It got some charm."

Ralathor just gave a low grumble of disapproval at which Zargothrax smiled lopsidedly at him.

"But I do admit, this place doesn't suit you well. Don't worry, we won't be staying long."

"We should have ported right here." Ralathor just said almost sulky and Zargothrax chuckled.

"Listen, I'm the first to bend some rules but don't mess with traffic regulation. Just wait, port enough times straight into a human's house and soon they will put up laws like this, too. I know, don't say it, ridiculous, I know."

Ralathor had not been about to say it but he let Zargothrax talk, merely listening. It was rather calming.

Ralathor followed Zargothrax past another corner and somewhere they seemed to pass from street to interior but there never had been any kind of doorway signalling the change. Just suddenly they stood in the middle of an emporium, the sickly sweet scent all the stronger here but it was almost disturbingly quiet now. It was jarring as Ralathor still felt the afterimage of the noises outside clear in his memories. 

He took a deep breath, daring finally to take his eyes from Zargothrax who seemed to search the emporium with his eyes himself. Undoubtedly looking for the owner or shopkeeper. 

Cramped hallways lead from the room they were in all directions and only a second glance revealed that they were no hallways in the first place, just paths carved between boxes and merchandise. It was even darker here then it had been in the alleyway they just left, industrial lights once cold had turned yellow by time and hung weakly in the dust and smoke. 

"Seems like nobody's here?" he finally whispered but Zargothrax mildly shook his head to that.

"Patience. Why don't you look around a bit? See if something catches your interest?" Zargothrax suggested displaying only an air of absolute calm. Ralathor assumed he had an appointment with whomever they now waited for, but if so, being made to wait didn't seem to bother Zargothrax.

Ralathor did as suggested and hesitatingly made a few steps through the room, navigating carefully around unstable looking towers of ... stuff. That was the only word that really fit. He tried to find a throughline to the things around him but found none. Between antiques and fabrics stood sacks with stones and ores, one a shelf that was as high as the ceiling where bars of various metals, books, vases, a bowl of purplish fruits or vegetables he actually didn't know. In between lay tools and mechanics, some small lifeless demon constructions, terminals and there was an entire box full of AV-Compensators of varying resistor strengths. Half of them looked broken though. Another shelf, so full it seemed already tilting forward. On the lower shelves, he saw boxes with heavy closings, the writing on it was familiar to him but ancient. If the label was correct these should contain some fairly outdated laser pistols.

He kneeled down but saw that the box was held shut with a heavy lock before he even tried to open it. 

“This is from Mezchinhar?” he glanced at Zargothrax. 

“Probably at some point. But lords only know where all this comes from. I don’t want to know, and neither should you.” Zargothrax answered nonchalantly, and Ralathor took it as a hint that even if there was some questionable business happening here, this was not the time nor place to actually question it. He stood up again and his eyes fell on a set of cards. Collectors cards, seemingly dedicated to a sport of some sort. 

So much he saw here was novel to him, not in theory, after having studied time and life for half an eternity already, he could put a name and picture to most objects of evolution and civilization. But as Earth was his first planet to visit and it’s civilization was still very young, something like this, simple trading cards, were strangely captivating. He wasn't surprised that these cards seemed to have human origin based on picture and language. He did wonder though where they came from - or when, as they seemed too old-fashioned for this civilisation. He was about to pick one of them up to look for a year on it but before he could Zargothrax said,

“You break it, you buy it.” 

Ralathor’s hand twitched back. “Excuse me?” he met Zargothrax eyes and the smirk below it. 

“Keep looking but better keep your hands to yourself. Don’t want you to catch galvanize-fever or a stray curse.” 

Nervously he glanced back at the perfectly harmless-looking cards but stepped away from the shelve to join Zargothrax again. 

"Why are these here?" He had strayed off from his direct path back to his teacher when something in a side table caught his eye. "These are Mem-Tests aren't they?" He recognized the small devices, not larger than a thumbnail. And true enough, Mezchinhar's writing was all over them. They were usually used in the creation of a new wizard or part. 

"Especially do not touch those," Zargothrax warned but where his words carried a certain urgency his face showed only amusement. "Those do not do what you think they do." 

Ralathor had no intention of touching anything in this room, not after the first warning, but there was a certain undeniable curiosity. "What  _ do _ they do then?"

"Some neural nonsense. They are like small self-contained curses, small constructs, they will fuck you up for a while before self-terminating. Hopefully." Zargothrax waved his hand as to underline that it was just nonsense. "Some wizards like them. But I for once find them quite unpleasant. It's like giving up control over your own mind to something else. Should you ever be tempted - just make sure to check them first before letting them run wild in that pretty head of yours. Yet better, construct your own. It's not that hard." He paused, casually crossing his arms before he almost begrudgingly added, "As your teacher, I do feel obligated at this point to remind you that either way, tempering with your mind is a bad idea and you shouldn't do it."

Ralathor glanced back at the table, his brows slightly raised. "It would seem quite risky."

"It is. That's why you won't hear much of it in Mezchinar. There's this cautionary tale tough - allegedly something about a wizard once who jettisoned himself straight into a star after using one of these." he lowered his head in almost convincing sympathy. "You must have heard that one - these stories usually go through the dorms like wildfire."

"No." Ralathor just slightly shook his head, looking back briefly at the merchandise "I kept mostly to my own."

"Good riddance."

Ralathor mustered him for a moment. It had been a while already since they had arrived in here - and yet Zargothrax seemed perfectly content just watching him explore. 

“How long do you think we will be waiting?” he asked, finally joining back up with the other, feeling a distinct restlessness that Zargothrax seemed to utterly lack. 

“I don’t know, how long are we already?” 

“17 minutes and a half.” 

For someone he had learned to be as impulsive and abrasive as Zargothrax was, this display of patience always seemed off wouldn’t there be a perfectly logical explanation. Ralathor sometimes envied Zargothrax’ utter lack of any sense of time. The desired effect of doing what he just had Ralathor told one shouldn't do; tampering with one's own mind. Ralathor would consider himself rather patient, but it couldn’t come close to the level Zargothrax could display. But was it really patience if one didn’t realize how much time was actually passing?

“Ah.” Zargothrax just shrugged lightly, and with that, the topic seemed dealt with and Ralathor's question still unanswered.

“Ah indeed. That must be your Scion, is it not? It is good to finally meet him.” 

The unexpected voice took both their attention and they turned to see the tall man appear from within the shadows of his wares. An unsettlingly wide smile on his face but his eyes hidden behind round sunglasses and the shadow of the wide-brimmed hat he wore. Both seemed ridiculously unnecessary in the dark room.

Ralathor glanced briefly at Zargothrax who just gave him a nod. 

“Yes, I’m Ralathor. Pleasure meeting you, Sir.” 

“Oh - he got manners, Zargothrax, did you notice he got manners? How did that happen?"

"Mystery to me. What do you got for me?" Zargothrax stepped closer to the man, but not so much that he would have to look up as dramatically as he would have standing straight in front of him. The man Ralathor assumed to be the owner of this place was easily over two meters tall. 

"Julian." The man called into the maze of wares and momentarily a young man, maybe still more a boy appeared with a dutiful seriousness on his face. 

"Show our customer here our last shipment." 

Zargothrax looked over to Ralathor. "Just wait here, alright." 

He nodded before Zargothrax left with the boy. Only when he had vanished within the shadows Ralathor realized that he was now alone with the owner who seemed to muster him with unsettling curiosity. He was uncomfortable with the fact that, with how little useful information he had, his Wizard in Mezchinhar was unable to find out anything of note about either the man or shop. 

"I've noticed you have several pieces here that come from Mezchinhar," he stated out of the blue as he gave into the pressure of saying something. Cursing himself almost immediately as he had to choose the one thing Zargothrax had just suggested not talking about, quickly he added, "Are you a wizard?" Even though he already knew the answer.

"Oh no." That wide unsettling smile again. "But I've been trading with your kind for a very long time."

Ralathor frowned slightly. It rose the question of why they were even here in the first place. "Trade? What would we need to trade with…"  _ someone like you _ , were the words on his tongue, but even though he was still a bit rough on his interspecies interaction he sensed that that might come off as rude. "With anyone, I mean. The Circle provides all we need."

"But they also ask a question to ever screw they hand over. Sometimes a wizard doesn't need those questions to be asked. So I don't."

The frown in Ralathor's face deepened. There was a heavy implication that this man's customers may not only be circumventing Mezchinhar, which didn't strike him as inherently bad, but also that these wizards might belong to the kind of wizards that had no longer access to Mezchinhar in the first place. Those that had left the circle - like worshippers of Chaos, opposed to Mezchinhar's order.

And being involved in business with a man that also extended his trade to chaos wizards was just feeling wrong. He glanced back at the weapon boxes on the shelf. 

"You never ask what your customers do with what you sell them?"

"No. But I usually already know." A light chuckle, Ralathor looked back at the man. He didn't trust him an arm's length, so, for now, his trust in Zargothrax' judgment would have to make up for that. And so he didn't push the subject further.

And as if he knew that he had given him enough to think about, the owner of the emporium indulged his silence with a slim yet unnerving smile.


	5. Trust

Ralathor appeared through the portal directly into the workshop and the moment it closed behind him he let out a sigh of relief. The two unicorns in the room stopped their downright playful nuzzling of each other and looked towards the young wizard.

Zargothrax raised his eyes from his work desk and brows in concern as he turned towards him. “Everything alright?”

Ralathor seemed more than tired. A brief wave of worry overcame him as he hoped Ralathor wouldn't get too cocky with his still rudimental porting abilities, especially when he seemed as exhausted as he did now. It would be a shame to have him accidentally port himself into the earth's core. Or worse. There were a couple of really nasty ways of getting killed while using portals. Ralathor had never died before and Zargothrax would prefer he didn't have to make that experience for the first time while under his care.

“Exhausted.” Ralathor only confirmed, his tired tone just underlining the word as he walked towards the working aisle opposite to Zargothrax. The clicking of metal hoofs followed him.

“No wonder, you’ve been gone for-” Zargothrax frowned slightly, falling silent. 

"Four days," Ralathor added, sparing Zargothrax the trouble of actually having to try to put a sense of time on the last days.

“Four days!? I would die spending that much time with those buffoons.” With a dismissive wave of the hand, he turned back to the device in front of him, a slow trickle of information tingling through his fingertips. 

“I’m sure the feeling is mutual.” Ralathor sat down, stretching his tired legs out, at first not even noticing how at his words Zargothrax abruptly rose up again and was now looking at him delightfully amused.

“Did I already tell you I like that?”

“What?” First now Ralathor frowned, all the while his unicorn had reached him and demanded his attention, nuzzling its metal head against Ralathor's shoulder who gave it a firm pat, tousling through the wavy mane.

“You've really got a mean streak in you.” 

Ralathor just clicked his tongue, now it was him dismissing the words with a wave of his hand before crossing his arms in front of his chest. A disgruntled chirp came from the unicorn in turn, continuing now to upset Ralathor's hair till he gently stopped it from doing so. “I’m tired.” His eyes darted for a moment to the far right of the room. "What happened there."

Zargothrax followed his gaze and frowned. "Ah. That. Right." The pile of metal and circuitry looked like someone had gotten with a warhammer to it. "It didn't work," he murmured.

"A curious approach to fixing it."

Their eyes met for a moment, Zargothrax would swear there was the undeniable hint of an amused smile under the black moustache. Not a minute ago he had told Ralathor he liked this sarcastic bite, now it already felt like he was abusing it.

"I've created a monster." A strange sense of Déjà vu overcame Zargothrax.

"Learning from the best." Ralathor closed his eyes, seemingly ready to just take a nap right then and there on that chair. Instead, however, he said, “Things are developing greatly in Achnasheen. Manufacturing is running with no problems there. You should visit at some point, you’d like it.” 

“Maybe I will,” Zargothrax answered knowing full well that he wouldn’t if he not absolutely had to. Achnasheen was a great place of learning and progress, an invaluable addition to Ralathor's studies on this planet that Zargothrax didn’t want to keep from him, but it had one terrible flaw that kept him from returning there. Wizards. Way too many of them.

“Doubt that,” Ralathor mumbled as if he had read his mind. The unicorn had stopped trying to coax Ralathor into giving it more attention, understanding that its master was tired, but nevertheless, Zargothrax could swear there was a downright pouty way in which it pranced back to its counterpart. Zargothrax' own unicorn had just watched the scene with calm curiosity. Both displaying a level of personality that would never be granted to the Unicorns in Mezchinhar, which made things a lot less fun arguably.

For a moment there was just the all-consuming quiet of the tower surrounding them, allowing no disturbance of the outside world to reach them, buried deep beneath the busying town. 

Zargothrax watched the tired young wizard for a moment, at a point he wasn’t fully convinced anymore he hadn’t fallen asleep after all. 

He considered saying something, now that he was back, there were many things he'd like to say or ask Ralathor. Maybe inquire if he was interested in the fair in the capital he heard about at his last visit of the world up top, or presenting him with the quick idea of expanding the tower that sprung up in his mind earlier. Maybe ask him if he needed anything, or if there was anything he could do for him. But in the end, he actually stayed quiet. Because he knew all Ralathor needed right now was a moment of peace and quiet. 

Ralathor had been here for a while now. What was it? A hundred years? Could have been only twenty or already four hundred for all he knew, he didn't pay much attention to time anymore. Especially not earth's years. Ralathor was young enough that if asked he could probably give him the current date and time they had spend together to the exact millisecond, while Zargothrax wasn’t even quite sure which century they were in. He hadn't paid attention to the date when Ralathor had first arrived and he didn't so now. All he knew was that Ralathor's presence had become the most natural thing to him. As if it's always been like that 

He had enough self-awareness to know that both of them weren't the easiest to deal with. He had learned that of Ralathor too, who had his very own way of being difficult. The young wizard was stoic to the point of being stubborn. Unnervingly quiet at times and yet so plainly judgmental it could be staggering, going so far, that on occasions when he had looked at him with that quiet judgment in his eyes it had made even Zargothrax himself self-conscious. While maybe equally exhausting to others, they couldn’t be more different in their personalities. And yet - as strange as it was - it was somehow working out just fine. 

There was an uncomfortable truth in all of that. A fact he would like not to be true, but mercilessly was. He had started to trust this wizard more than he might should. More than his sense of self-preservation told him was healthy. Ralathor was still bound very much to Mezchinhar, but even his own paranoia couldn’t make it any less true. 

At some point Ralathor had stopped being a mere student to him, a student he surely wanted to see succeed, but someone he knew would only be a short speck in the course of his life. Sooner than later moving on to other ventures, to maybe become a grand wizard himself in time. In all fairness, Ralathor should long be more than a mere Scion, probably even surpassing the rank of Acolyte by now. They just hadn't gotten around to officialise that yet. 

Because instead of just a student, he had become a friend. By the lords, he thought he had stopped making those. And maybe, as asinine that seemed, the feeling was actually mutual.

He didn’t flinch away when Ralathor opened his eyes again, maybe having felt that he was being watched. Just that soothing silence surrounding them. 

“An eternity for your thoughts,” Ralathor said quietly, barely disturbing the tower's calm. 

"If I gave them to you, you'd only have some old, jaded and grumpy wizard to laugh at."

"Doubt that, too." Ralathor stretched himself more on the chair, quite adamant to make it the most comfortable position he could find in the tower. "Old, that I can't refute. But for everything else you're still too passionate about what you do and care for."

"What vile flattery is this?" 

"Just an honest opinion. Do with it as you please."


	6. Unicorn

“There is another one.” Ralathor entered the workshop, raising up the piece of paper he was referring to while holding a few other scrolls and letters in the other. The seal was already broken, the heavily ornamented and expensive design showing the sign of the king. “Have you thought about it, yet?” 

“I have. And my position has not changed.”

Zargothrax didn’t even raise or look at him. With his hair pulled into a knot and for once not draped in jewellery nor a heavy cloak, the wizard was hands deep in the mechanical bowels of a unicorn, with his entire lower plating removed. It twitched as Zargothrax literally ripped something out of it, followed by a disgruntled noise of the unicorn and a mumbled "Sorry" from Zargothrax that made Ralathor smile softly before he said,

“It’s a good position. An influential one.” 

“It’s servitude, that’s all that is,” Zargothrax pressed through his teeth, as he reached shoulder-deep into the unicorn, another slight twitch.

“Yoctotyr wants me to inform you, that, given your favourable reputation with the crown, they would like you to take it.” 

“And I want you to inform Yoctotyr, that he can stick his opinion-”

“Got it.” Ralathor nodded, cutting him off before Zargothrax could finish his curse in obscenity while he put the letter aside. “On that note, they also, once more, voiced great concern about you still refusing to resign in Mezinachar. They are worried.” 

"Though not about my well being." At that Zargothrax finally emerged from below the great unicorn with a frown on his face, wiping his oil-smeared hands on a nearby rag. There was something quite charming about the way he looked now, as flamboyant and over the top the old wizard could be, with all his love for shiny and fancy things - he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty himself. That was the charitable interpretation. There was a case to be made that Zargothrax rather did things himself because he wanted them done right and didn't quite trust anyone to do it as good as he could.

“It’s the exact same thing. Don't tell me you don't see it? It's control, their assurance that ultimately they hold my existence in their hands, too."

"It's safety," Ralathor said diplomatically even though he knew it would only stir his friend's irritation concerning Mezchinhar. "And frankly, It would soothe my own worries, too." 

"Cute." Zargothrax' smile was more of a grimace as he stood up and turned his back on him, getting some tool from the workbench.

There were many things Ralathor wanted to say, none of them he could put into words, and so he stayed quiet. Noticing this unexpected silence of him, Zargothrax finally turned back around, mustering his face, maybe reading the troubled thoughts behind it. He walked up to him, keeping his eyes on him and as he reached him, raised his hands and lay it firmly on Ralathor's neck like he was about to give him a pep talk. Maybe he was. Ralathor did not flinch back even though every wizard was taught from the moment they came into time that another wizard's touch was one of the most dangerous threats they could face. But that knowledge couldn't be further away at this moment. Instead he just felt the traces of oil and grease against his skin and a heavy sense of regret as he knew he wouldn't like what he was about to hear.

“Listen to me, Ralathor. I appreciate your concern, but I will not submit myself to their whim. They don’t like me much nor do they trust me, they don’t have much use for me and just want to make sure I’m at a place where I don’t bother anyone with my antics, and that is alright. You hear me? I’m sorry it had to be you they threw at a thorn in their side like me for worldly education, there must have been a thousand more - well let's say orderly - opportunities for a bright mind like you.” 

“Actually,” Ralathor said, almost reluctant to say what he was about to say. “I requested it myself.” 

That took Zargothrax by surprise. “Why?” 

Ralathor weakly shrugged, staying silent.

A strange silence followed in which both actually knew that it was because of that lingering sensation both had from the very beginning that they had known each other before, somewhere in memories that had been lost in the battle of Kilchoan to both of them. 

But Ralathor wasn't willing to drop the subject yet, even though his senses told him that it might be for the better, and still, he quickly said,

“But Mezchinhar has a use for you, they want you to take that position at the King's side. They want you to -” play a part in their plan. To act on their behalf, forging the path of time. That was their purpose. To ensure order on the chaos of creation, protect the passage of time as it was intended to flow. “To make a difference. To do something.” Ralathor instantly regretted the words, it wasn't what he meant, and he saw irritation they caused immediately.

“What difference does one King make? One planet?” Zargothrax pulled his hand away, leaving only the stains, and anger in his voice. “Is what I do for nought just because it is not quite in accordance with the fever dream that is the great plan of galactic order? Is what  _ we _ do pointless?"

"I-" Ralathor tried, but Zargothrax didn't give him a chance to answer.

"Tell me Ralathor, do you dream of controlling the kingdoms? To make life bow to your whim, standing as a god above it? Is that what you want? Absolut order, because it’s supposed to be like that?” 

“No. I mean, not like that,” Ralathor said weakly, straightening in his stance as if that would help to make him feel more in control of the conversation. Which he was absolutely not. He had poked something clearing having slumbered deep in his friend's mind, and now it was wide awake.

“Then maybe you should reconsider your standpoint because I’m not sure Mezchinhar would agree with that.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. Understand this Ralathor, if of any of what I spoke here only one thing will ring true to you, let it be this; We are to the first circle as much of a tool as those humans are to us. And the Circle is just a tool to the Lords. There are plans and decisions trickling down to us that none of us has any chance to ever be a part of and none of it will be explained to us. Because we don’t need to know. We need only to act - as we’re told. And I’ve been tired of it for a long time.” 

Ralathor nodded slowly. There was a truth in those words that didn’t have to be taught to him, that he didn’t have to figure out himself. It was the truth of his own creation, the purpose and reason for his sheer existence, created by hands brought into existence by gods - not out of the goodness of their heart, because they possessed neither heart nor goodness, but because of that purpose. 

A suffocating silence followed, Zargothrax looked at him while Ralathor kept his head held high, stoically keeping their eyes locked, all the while he was desperately trying to find something, anything, to say to break the silence. But what was he to say to that? 

Then Zargothrax sighed, his gaze only briefly flicking away, but ultimately being the first to break the tension. “Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to be this harsh with you. I know you only mean well and I hope you know that my frustration isn’t with you.” 

“I know.” Relieve filled those two words as Ralathor hoped this might mark the end of this dreadful topic.

Zargothrax smiled weakly, the gentleness returned to his black eyes as he looked at him. “Come, let us not talk about this any longer - I actually wanted to show you something.” He waved his hand to follow him, as he stepped closer back to the unicorn. “You will love this.” 

Ralathor sighed and followed Zargothrax. The sour note the tension before had left him with was hard to get rid of, even though Zargothrax now did his best to try at least.

But the feeling  _ did _ fade, once he paid attention to Zargothrax' explanation and showcase of the changes he had made and planned. The genuine excitement soon colouring his words as if the anger before never had been there was terribly captivating. Not much later Ralathor didn’t even think about the earlier conversation anymore, as they were caught in an exhilarating back and forth about the new changes Ralathor sure would soon be introducing to the engineers in Achnasheen. 

But who could fault him - he really had gotten to like Unicorns.


	7. Achnasheen

“Do you think we’ll see what they are doing with the old king?” Ralathor asked, a hint of curious excitement in his voice Zargothrax usually loved to point out as most charming and a sign of his bloody youthfulness. Right now, however, the old wizard just frowned slightly. 

“Doubt that. And don’t care. They're just playing around. This whole cyborg nonsense is just to prove that they got more time than sense on their hands.” 

“Right.” Ralathor crossed his arms as he waited for Zargothrax to finish and join him. Which might could take a moment longer. 

While choosing the most suitable, most fashionable and most pleasing paraphernalia to his chosen robe, Zargothrax glanced almost amused at Ralathor. “How, by the lords’ eternal grace, can one manage to say so much, with just one single word? That, my friend, is sorcery to me.” 

Ralathor rolled his eyes slightly. “Just take the silver one. You take that one 56,4% of the time, just let today be one of those days. We’re already late.” 

Zargothrax eyed him suspiciously. “You didn’t sleep well, did you?”

His small sigh answered the question before his words did, his voice almost apologetic, “I haven’t slept at all for a fact.” 

“I can notice, you get quite irritable if you don’t.” In absolutely no hurry Zargothrax lay down the jewellery Ralathor had just pointed out as the easiest solution, considering a more flashy rose golden variant, checking it against the stormy burgundy of his robe. And Ralathor cursed himself because he knew _now_ Zargothrax was just doing it on purpose to irritate him. 

"What kept you awake?"

A reflexive _Besides you?_ lay on his tongue but even though it was true that Zargothrax, with his blatant disregard of the concept of day and night, had kept him awake more often than he could count with some epiphany, project or other just plain need for attention, it wasn’t true for last night. “Mezchinhar. I got some whispers of this meeting. And it worries me because they seemed to be.” 

“But no details?”

“No, they said they want all on this earth in a room for that.” 

At that Zargothrax paused and looked at Ralathor. “Isn’t that curious? I’m not quick to shine a too bright light on myself, but the only reason this meeting couldn’t have already happened with the high and mighty seems to be me.”

Ralathor had to fight with all his strength to not call Zargothrax out on the ‘light on himself’ part and manage to just nod. “It would seem that they really want you there.”

Curiosity finally gave Zargothrax the push to decide on the jewellery for the day - which ended up exactly that silver one Ralathor had just pointed out earlier. How he had to bite his tongue on that one.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, it is my favourite one after all!” 

“Then why do you even have to consider the others?”

“There is no way that you could ever understand that,” Zargothrax said with a look on his face and tone in his voice that spoke of the deepest regret, all while eying Ralathors quite simplistic and rather practical choice of clothing. “Do you even own a single cloak that is not blue?”

“Do I have to?”

“It’s a form of expression! Show the world who you are, how you feel. Wonderful and powerful, for example.“ Pointing at himself. “Or -” He waved his hand, pointing at all of Ralathor. “That.” 

Ralathor did his damndest to not seem amused but couldn't help the corners of his mouth twitching, which was reaction enough for Zargothrax.

Ralathor was a gifted wizard, quick learner and good student. But Zargothrax had soon realized that a sense of expressive fashion was one of the things he would never be able to teach the stoically pragmatic wizard.

Now that his own fashion problem was at least dealt with they arrived in Achnasheen merely seconds later. Zargothrax opened a portal that led them straight next to the gate. For security reasons, it was prevented to port straight into Achnasheen, which was quite reasonable, and despite his dislike of Achnasheen, the short walk would be a great opportunity to just have a quick look around after all this time. Zargothrax opened the glistering gate and they stepped through. 

His eyes were promptly drawn to the fields of Unicorns. A sight that filled him with great satisfaction. He hadn't seen the new ones himself so far as he tended to avoid Achnasheen almost as much as Mezchinhar, but Ralathor had apparently done a stellar job in his place as it turned out. They were magnificent.

"Since we're already here, you'll have to show me around after this," he said with a nod to the unicorns and Ralathor smiled, well deservedly proud of himself.

"Gladly."

The massive fortress stood before them basked in light and magic that served only one sole reason, a reason Zargothrax probably approved of, Ralathor mused, as it was pure pomp with no practical purpose to it. Beside that Achnasheen was busy with life - It must have been a long time that this many wizards had gathered at one place on this planet. While most if not all of them were already inside, many had brought entourage, and this plus the usual soldiers that staffed the place let Achnasheen appear at first glance like a small busy village. A small busy village with a shining fortress and curious buildings that would seem wonderfully magical to any person living on earth at this point in time.

They had crossed the airfield halfway when a voice called out to them and they turned toward it. 

“Zargothrax!” The approaching wizard acknowledged Ralathor's presence with a relieved nod before focusing back on Zargothrax. “How good to see that Scion of yours was able to convince you to come.”

Ralathor had seen this wizard before maybe once or twice in Achnasheen, but they had never been introduced. A friendly gleam in the sun-kissed face, now that he talked there was a warmth in his expression that was framed by thick black hair and the mightiest and fullest beard Ralathor had ever seen.

“He’s rather persistent, one has to give him that. Maybe stubbornly so.” Zargothrax answered relaxed, a light-hearted tone in his voice, seemingly pleased to talk to someone Ralathor had to assume to be actually a friend of his based on the way they interacted.

Ralathor indulged the older wizards talking about him as if he wasn’t even present, or, in Zargothrax' case, the obvious quip just to tease him a little more before they would probably have to get serious for a while once they would enter the building.

“Come. I haven't seen you in a while, how are you, what have you been up to? Besides torturing your poor Scion I assume.” the other Wizard asked with a smile as they walked side by side towards the fortress, Ralathor two steps behind them, just listening as Zargothrax answered. He was used to it. In earth years he would be already considered ancient, but most of that time he had not spent on this planet or any other.

As so many of them, his Wizard had started out as a general assistant in Mezchinhar, having done a bit of everything to find a purpose that suited him, from research to development, cloning and manufacturing, studying the universe and time itself. With the latter, he had first experienced the sensation of boredom, as he found that he was, on a conscious level, definitely not made for that field. Unfortunately, that had dragged on for what had felt like several thousand years - but then again, time in Mezchinhar was its own thing to be studied. Which he had done too at some point, trying to understand the artificial havens of time, built inside a concept that had no such thing as time and space. If pressed on it, he wouldn’t be able to retell even half of it, but he had memorized enough to move on to more engaging tasks. 

That all said - in the eyes of older wizards, a very few almost as old as the birth of time itself, he would be a ‘young wizard’ for a very, _very_ long time. 

They entered the fortress and a calm voice automatically greeted them and granted them passage. 

“I think with you two, everyone should have arrived,” the wizard who seemed to know Zargothrax said. 

As Ralathor had suspected, they had been the last to arrive. Fashionably late. Words couldn't describe how much he despised being late - fortunately for all involved, he had found out that his patience for Zargothrax' chaotic ways was seemingly bottomless.

“Anything I should prepare myself for?” Zargothrax now asked and the other just laughed dryly at that. 

“If I were to guess, everyone else is preparing for you. Just try not to insult everyone in the first minutes.” Then his face turned more serious. “But honestly, I have no idea. They have kept things very vague.” 

“Naturally.” 

Ralathor realized that he had never been to these gatherings accompanied by Zargothrax. They _had_ been together visiting a great many festivities and banquets, the local ones in Cowdenbeath as well as the pompous royal ones of whatever king or queen of the decade tried to win the old wizard's favour. Zargothrax loved those. But the official gatherings of wizards, be it an Achnasheen or Mezchinhar, he never attended, sending Ralathor in his place.

The idea that he might be a known disturbance to these types of meetings wasn’t perse surprising, but Ralathor was slightly amused that it seemed to be a well-known fact to joke about for the wizards knowing him. 

Ralathor followed the other two wizards into a large hall at which middle a massive table stood. An idling bright blue hologram hovered in its centre five meters above the floor, flooding the room in diffuse magical light. As the wizards present noticed their entering, they started to move to their seats, a low mumbling in the room. Apart from the conversation leading up here, they had missed the time for small talks and catching up and nobody veered off on their path to greet them personally. Only a few acknowledging nods of the wizards he usually worked with were directed his own way. The small group of three found their designated seats soon. Of course, today Ralathor was sitting in the second row behind Zargothrax, in the seat next to Zargothrax sat the wizard they had met outside. Finally, Ralathor got a name to the face by the seatings marker. Demitalek. 

Only a few moments later, driven by the shared curiosity, his Wizard in Mezchinhar had found out that Demitalke was considered a very accomplished engineer and had served with Zargothrax till Kilchoan. He mused they had probably met through their Warriors but his Wizard found no clue to either confirm or deny this assumption. It wasn't really important now anyways.

The room fell silent as the Grand Wizard Yoctotyr, in charge of Achnasheen and overseeing all earth affairs, spoke, standing at the head of the table. 

"Now that we're finally complete, let us begin." Yoctotyr's voice was like a quake going through the silence of the room, amplified through the magic in the room. His dark brows drawn in a serious frown, Ralathor had never seen him without one, the white hair and beard basked in the defuse blue shine of the light above. His simple dark robe would not give away his importance, weren't it for his light-blue cloak that was the dream of kings and emperors. Ralathor noticed how the Grand Wizard did look directly in their direction, Zargothrax seemed to meet his gaze head-on. “I’m very glad to see you joined us after all, Zargothrax, as you will find it preferable to speak for yourself in this matter.”

“I usually do, unlike some here.”

Ralathor saw Demitalek pinch the bridge of his nose, whispering so low only Zargothrax and Ralathor could hear him. “47 seconds. You can’t be serious.” - and he could immediately sense a palpable hostility taking root in the room, which was concerning. 

“And yet it’s been your Scion we saw taking your place at the table for a long time now,” Yoctotyr said in a wondering tone that carried more than just consideration. There was something hidden behind those words they just didn’t know about yet, Ralathor could almost grasp it. 

“When he speaks I know he speaks with my intentions and wishes, I think there is quite a difference here.” 

“So he does,” Yoctotyr said. The room was disturbingly quiet now, everyone hanging on both wizards words. And Ralathor felt the uncomfortable sensation of being the subject of this discussion, first and foremost because he didn’t see how this could be relevant. Grand Wizard Yoctotyr wasn't known to indulge in personal grudges, especially not this publicly, in such a setting. A horrifying suspicion dawned on him as he remembered that not only Zargothrax had been invited urgently to this event, but Ralathor himself too. At the time he had considered it a courtesy to include his name in the urgency of the request, but now he wasn’t so sure anymore. Had he done something wrong? Was this about him? 

Maybe Zargothrax had the same line of thoughts, because briskly he asked, “What is this about, Yoctotyr? If you want to talk about my Scion, I’ll indulge you, I have a lot of things to say about him - but tell me first why he is of interest here!” 

“He's indeed a cause for concern,” Yoctotyr admitted with a grim nod. 

Ralathor’s jaws were clenched tight and so were his hands as he involuntarily leaned forward. _Cause for concern?_ A nauseating sensation overcame him as he tried feverishly to find anything he had done that might have caused this situation now - but came up with nothing.

Yoctotyr continued, “As with recent events his current educational path, as well as the values you might teach, have been put into question.” 

Ralathor felt like frozen, he only saw how Zargothrax was just one trigger away from jumping up from his seat, his body tense as a drawn bow, but for now he only heard him demand in anger, “Explain yourself, Yoctotyr, I hope you have a damn good reason to level such atrocious accusation at me!” 

“We do, unfortunately.” Yoctotyr sat down at his seat, still not taking his eyes from Zargothrax who seemed fuming. “As of recent years, we have witnessed a steady incline in the regularity of interference of chaos cultists on this planet. As they have become quite cunning, we had no viable course of action against their scheming, however, as their actions have grown bolder, it has been finally revealed to us whom this particular cabal of cultists is led by.” 

A short pause followed that was so ridiculously and obviously only placed there to just make Zargothrax wonder who they could possibly be talking about and how it related back to him. Ralathor was surprised how much this fact irritated him.

“The name Atladin should be still familiar to you.” 

If Zargothrax had been tense before, there had to be a new word invented going beyond petrified for the sudden stiffness that seemed to take hold of his entire body. He stayed quiet while Yoctotyr spoke on.

“Certainly, as he was the wizard that would sit with you, just on the place your current Scion sits, yes?” A rhetorical question Zargothrax didn’t answer and Yoctotyr didn't need to be answered. Obviously Ralathor had to deduce that the answer was indeed yes even though he had neither heard the name or met his predecessor. He hadn’t even ever considered that there might have been someone before him. Of course, there had to be. Zargothrax was too old as that Ralathor could possibly be his first Scion. What an unexpectedly strange thought. But by far not as unexpected as the deep ugly feeling of concern growing in the pit of his stomach. 

“Surely you can understand our concern as we found Atladin to be leading the current - misbehaving - of this cabal. Especially, since this is not the first time this kind of accusation has been levied against your leadership.” 

Finally, Zargothrax found his voice of anger again, now actually raising up, hands pressed flat into the table. “What happened in Kilchoan we will never know. Nor if it had been my fault or not! My name was cleared of these accusations a long time ago, what other purposes than sowing doubt now has it for you to bring it up again!” barely contained rage was trembling in his voice. 

Ralathor could do nothing but watch. How much he wanted Zargothrax to look at him, to ask him about all this, right now, but of course that wasn’t possible. Instead he saw Zargothrax take a deep breath, standing up straight, his hands flexing and relaxing again. 

“What is there I can do that could possibly change what seems to be an opinion about my conduct already formed and solidified?”

Yoctotyr rose his hand, a nothing but calming gesture if he wouldn't be a wizard. “Calm yourself Zargothrax, do not accuse _us_ of rash judgment. Your actions have been put into question, that is true, but you’re not yet to be found to be at fault. We will, however, expect your cooperation in this matter, to resolve it as quickly as possible. Your cooperation, and that of you Scion.”

First at that Zargothrax glanced behind himself, their eyes met for a moment, and Ralathor was startled by the unrest in his friend's face, almost a silent plea to Ralathor. 

Then Zargothrax looked back at the grand wizard. “What do you require of him?”

“We will verify his memories, which shouldn’t take too long given his age. You should agree, that this is the simplest solution to prove your words true.”

“No!” 

Ralathor looked downright startled back at Zargothrax. Maybe everyone in the room did so right now. _No?_

Yoctotyr too had risen his dark brows in suspicion and surprise alike. 

“You will keep your hands off him. The mere proofless accusation does not warrant this level of intrusion into who he is. That you even ask this, of a Scion under my care, is downright insulting!”

“Zargothrax, do not be ridiculous. Let us do this and we all can leave it behind us.” 

"I won't allow it. And if I hear you forced this matter in Mezchinhar where he is out of my reach, I -" 

Zargothrax fell silent before he could have worded the threat fully, and Ralathor felt a brief flash of relief, but he also knew from the tone in his voice that there was no reasoning with him. 

But then, maybe to throw himself a lifeline from the predicament his own words had brought him in, Zargothrax said: "Here is what I will offer you. Let me take care of Atladin for you. If anyone will be able to find him where you failed it is me. I assume you'd want his body and mind, and so you shall have it. And when I deliver him to you, you can poke in his brain as long as you want till all your questions have been answered and you will see I've done him no wrong."

For the first time, the silence in the room broke and a low mumbling when through the rows of wizards. Ralathor's eyes were fixed on Zargothrax' back. There had been a shift in his tone, just there at the end. But he had no time to think about that before Yoctotyr spoke already again.

“Are you planning to take on the cultist on your own?”

“Ralathor will be with me.”

“Do you think that is wise?”

“He's an exceptional wizard and I trust him more than any of you here. So yes.”

Yoctotyr was silent for a moment, a cold thoughtful if not downright suspicious look in the dark eyes while letting the unrest in the room grow and in a surreal moment, Ralathor wondered how long it would be till they would start throwing rotten fruit at the man in the pillory.

As he spoke again, the other voices fell silent again. 

“As a matter of fact, the question of how to deal with this cabal of cultists would have been the next item on our list to consider and the reason I’ve asked all of you here today.“

Ralathor barely heard the grand wizard talk anymore. He was watching Zargothrax as if under a spell. Saw the slow twitching of his fingers and clenching of fists, the sheer tension and anger held back with barely holding restraint. His own thoughts were overwhelming him, the prospect of acting against the cultists on their own, the possibility of actually ending up in a conflict that may kill him, or even worse, Zargothrax who had no fallback point in Mezchinhar. The fact that Zargothrax had so vehemently refused to have Ralathors memories be examined, for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp at this moment, even though he would have offered it in a heartbeat if it meant to clear Zargothrax’ name. 

“Considering that, I’ll leave it up to the Conflagration to decide on this. Either, we accept Zargothraxes offer, or we will have to take these matters into our own hands. Please decide.”

Those allowed to make a decision touched the table briefly, where their fingers touched the surface a low glow faded as quickly as it had appeared. Ralathor had no way of making his opinion count so he just watched Zargothrax and Demitalek casting their vote on the matter. 

“It is decided then. Zargothrax, you shall have your chance to deal with those cultists on our behalf. As the matter is growing urgent, time is of the essence. Do not draw this out or we have to take care of both issues ourselves after all.”

“I hear you, Yoctotyr.” Zargothrax finally sat back down. 

“Do you?” Yoctotyr frowned, but there seemed a strange sense of bitter amusement in his dark eyes. “Then answer me this, wizard. Are you tired of this existence gifted to you?"

"I'm still very much enjoying my life, thank you. You know, a life away from exactly this." Now that the immediate danger seemed to have passed, Zargothrax' tone turned frustrated. If there had been any respect left when this meeting started it was gone now.

"But it has come to my attention, that this body of yours is the only one you possess currently, isn't that right?"

Zargothrax stayed quiet, just meeting Yoctotyr’s eyes with merciless hardness.

“This quest might as well kill you, but you seem quite willing to throw yourself, and your Scion, at it with no consideration for your own continued existence.”

"Ask what you want to ask and do so clearly, or don’t speak at all, _Grand_ Wizard!" Zargothrax snapped and at that, a murmur went through the room, taken aback by the audacity of those words. Many who wouldn't dare such a tone speaking to a Grand Wizard, seemingly forgetting that Zargothrax was holding the title of Grand Wizard too, and at least on paper Yoctotyr held no authority over him. 

Ralathor was experiencing the worst form of empathy for the other wizard as he felt mortified by this public dragging out of what should have been a private conversation. 

“Should you fail on this quest, and this body of yours killed, there will be no effort made to bring you back,” Yoctotyr finally said

Zargothrax stood up, “You can leave me rotting in a ditch for all I care.” He turned “We’re done here. Ralathor!” 

Ralathor jumped up like bitten, nervously glancing around as he chased after Zargothrax who left the room with hard steps. Everyone was staring at them. There was mumbling following them. Judgment and sneering. It all settled in the pit of his stomach as the ugliest feeling he ever had experienced. 

They reached outside and Zargothrax wasn’t stopping. 

Ralathor heard Demitalek call after them, but they still weren’t stopping. 

They passed the gate and immediately Zargothrax opened that portal back to the tower and, as he almost feared Zargothrax wouldn’t wait for him in his rage, Ralathor followed him quickly. At once they were back in the unnatural quiet of the Cowdenbeath Tower.

“Zargo-”

“Quiet!” 

Ralathor flinched, in reflex his stance straightened again, his head held high, lips pressed tightly shut. Somewhere in his mind, Ralathor knew, for the sake of their friendship, he shouldn’t stay here right now, because he felt the danger of words of rage being flung just to hurt the next best thing it touched. But he was frozen, never before, in all their years together, had he seen Zargothrax this angry, this lost in his own anger.

He flinched again as that thunderous rage found it’s first victim and a jar crashed against the wall, thrown with so much force it burst into thousands of shards of glass raining down on the floor. Most of the table’s content soon followed. Fortunately, no more of the interior was then to be subject to destruction as Zargothrax pressed his hands onto the cleared table, breathing hard, trying to calm himself. Ralathor could sense the struggle within his friend. 

“Why wouldn’t you let me give them what they wanted? I would have done it,” Ralathor said carefully, tensely aware that he was poking at a raging dragon with an extremely short wooden stick. But the burst of flaming rage did not come.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Zargothrax’ voice was low, trembling in anger, but tired too. He didn’t turn around, he just stood there, bent over the table, his back heaving under the heavy breath incapable of soothing his troubled mind. 

“I just want to help you. You have done nothing wrong. Why not let me prove it to them and clear your name.” 

Finally, Zargothrax turned around, Ralathor was startled by the still palpable anger in his face. “Because this isn’t about me! It’s about you and your lord forsaken naivety!” 

Ralathor almost flinched back but somehow managed to keep socially calm, even though he was fronting the full force of Zargothrax' anger now.

“You have no idea what they will do, no idea of the consequences. They will tear into your memory and you will be fully awake through all of it, unable to do anything about it. They will invade every single corner of your mind, scratching, clawing - ripping it apart just to see what’s below it. They will leave their marks and they will never go away, always a stain on your consciousness! Shadows of strangers lingering in your thoughts, ideas that aren’t your own. Because do you think looking and tearing down is all they do? 

Maybe you lay there and suddenly you remember certain truths no longer, but you wouldn’t know about it, because how could you. Maybe you suddenly grow conscious of memories that never had been yours. It takes an eternity to recover from it, and I do not want to see this happen to you. I will not allow it even should that mean my own death, do you understand that Ralathor! Do _not_ let them do this to you!” 

Zargothrax words grew more pleading with every passing sentence, his monologue filled by the end with so much pain that Ralathor felt like he was being strangled by the terrifying realization that Zargothrax did speak with the voice of a man who knew not by hearsay, but by experience. The implication was so heavy that they were crushing him, shortening his breath and yet he knew he would not ask. Couldn’t ask. 

“Please promise me you won’t try to help me by doing this,” Zargothrax said he had come close now, firmly, pleadingly meeting his eyes. 

Ralathor swallowed hard, trying to find his voice again. 

“I promise. I’m sorry.” For the first time, he lowered his eyes, unable to keep looking at his friend. “I was ignorant.” He had known about the process, but he had never heard of its consequences. 

“Of course you were.” But there was no malice in those words, just a sad factuality. Then a sigh. “I’ll retreat to my chambers for a moment of silence. Don’t clean this up, I’ll do it myself later. It’s my mess.” 

Ralathor raised his eyes again, only briefly glancing at the destruction Zargothrax burst of anger had left in the room, then back at the wizard. “I can do it, that’s no problem.”

“Ralathor, just do as I say now. Please. Go do something else, take your mind off this for a while. We have our work cut out for us, the coming days will be taxing on both of us.” Then he paused, maybe wanting to say something else, but only shook his head slightly. Then without another word Zargothrax left him. 

Alone with his confused and troubled thoughts. 


	8. Silence

Maybe for the first time, definitely the first time since he had been in Cowdenbeath and maybe even in his entire life, Ralathor perceived the silence surrounding him as distracting. Because in the silence his thoughts had room to wander.

He had been collecting data for most of the day, jumping to and back from the mighty Achnasheen, land of the unicorns, to the frozen Achavanich buried deep beneath the lords' mark, and Achnaha standing against the force of the everlasting storms of Kilchoan flogging its shore sidewalls with massive waves. He had been trying his best to sweet-talk the Filemasters of each base to help him in his search - a task he was dreadful at. Sweet talking that was, but he _was_ good at finding and collecting data. 

Neither he nor even Zargothrax were allowed to tap into Mezchinhar libraries directly, which would have saved him the porting journey. Usually, Zargothrax as a grand wizard should be allowed to, but with all he had learned about that relationship, Ralathor wasn't surprised he wasn't. Furthermore, it was probably his mistrust towards the other wizards in turn, that was the reason for the tower itself not being linked to the other libraries. Zargothrax sure valued his privacy, which could be considered an almost paradoxical concept for beings that naturally shared one consciousness between different bodies and were able to make information available to others with the touch of a finger. However, Ralathor knew by now quite well that Zargothrax wasn't alone with this sentiment. Secrecy and mistrust bordering close to paranoia was an art form quite many wizards pursued - naturally towards the people outside the circle but maybe even as strongly towards other wizards. And that was where the sweet-talking came back into play - he realized he would have to hone his persuasion skill if he ever were to ever get a higher rank to his name.

Be as it may, he had eventually gotten what he had sought and was now sifting through it slowly and carefully, memorizing all he thought important. He was slower than usual as he felt a considerable amount of his attention drifting off again and again. 

The idea that they were now on a quest to catch, or maybe even decide the death of a former student of Zargothrax’ felt terrible to him. It hit a little bit too close to home, and he wondered what turns that former Scion had taken to arrive at this point. 

And maybe, only just maybe, somewhere in the back of his mind he _did_ wonder if Zargothrax had an influence on those turns. Of course, he himself wasn’t blind to the fact that Zargothrax wasn’t one to speak too kindly of Mezchinhar. One had to be blind, deaf and dead to not notice. Nor was he ignorant towards the fact that Zargothrax encouraged him freely to think critically of all things he encountered, to never take a word on face value and especially not those coming from the circle. Would that already be considered bad? 

Maybe it was another reason why Zargothrax wouldn’t want him to share his memories because maybe he did fear how the wizards would judge his conduct from an outside perspective in relation to the prescribed order of things. Was he free to question the galactic rule of order? He had thought so, never since he met Zargothrax had doubted it. Now he wasn’t so sure anymore. Was the act alone already a sign that he was being...what? Missguided?

With a frustrated whistle through his teeth, he raised his hand from the console and gave his mind a full moment to just sort itself out. He didn’t quite know what to think at all about all of this. Looking down at the now idling device before him, ready to give him access to more and more data, he tried to lead his thoughts on a more productive path. 

A clearer picture had formed by now of the wizard they were looking for. 

Atladin. 

A former Scion and later Acolyte of Zargothrax thought he had barely spent half the time with the old wizard Ralathor had by now. He didn't have to wonder if that was on Atladin or himself, he was of course quite aware that technically his education was long finished. The parting of ways at the end of Atladin’s mentorship was noted as ‘not noteworthy’ and his achievements as ‘as expected’. The more curious thing was that Atladin had vanished from the face of the earth - and any other observed plane of existence for that matter - just a short time later. 

There had been an investigation into his disappearance, Zargothrax had been questioned in it too, but in the end, no trace of him had been found. Until recently. Emerging again as leader of a hidden cabal of Chaos cultists. At their head, he had sowed chaos and destruction wherever they went, always one step ahead to the forces of order.

Ralathor touched the display again, his eyes glowing softly as he looked again at the images he had seen. It was curious - in his studies before he had seen a lot of what violence lay within the universe, he had studied it with the emotionless clarity of any good scholar - but as he looked now though the eyes of a Soldier at the destroyed villages, the dead bodies on the grounds - he felt an unfamiliar sense of regret for that senseless killing. Maybe because he was indeed loosely connected to it now. And maybe because he had spent so much time here in Cowdenbeath already. Enough time to put some value on the short specks of life that were humans. 

Humans that had met him with caution and mistrust first, but later with warmth and kindness. Who would invite him to tea which he would politely decline, who would seek his guidance when trouble befell them even though he wasn't really good at that. Lifes so short, so futile, but in a way admirable. And here they were, caught in the middle of a war that went on since the dawn of time, a war in which there was nothing for them to win, but everything to lose. 

He heard steps approach from behind but didn’t turn away from what he was looking at, slowly going through what he knew already, wasting time. 

“I have spoken with the few wizards still willing to speak to me,” Zargothrax announced with a tone of voice that almost made one believe he was proud of the fact that no wizard wanted to talk to him. Maybe he was - he wore it with a strange sense of pride. “Wonders what details you can coax out of some. And wonders how effectively they can bore one to death, too. What have you got?” 

“Not much yet. It’s… going slow.” 

“Is everything alright?” The genuine concern in Zargothrax’ voice made Ralathor sigh softly. What was he even thinking? His friend had given him absolutely no reason to doubt him and yet here he was, letting his personal judgment be tainted by words carrying possibly ulterior motives. 

“I have a question,” he said instead of answering Zargothrax' inquiry into his well being. The other leaned with his back against the table behind Ralathor and crossed his arms casually in front of his chest. 

“Then ask.” 

Ralathor turned around dropping his hands between his legs, the chair smoothly following his movement. “I’ve been trying to understand… why do they kill?” Before Zargothrax could answer he raised his hand halfway, signalling that he wasn’t quite done with formulating the whole question. “If chaos is the natural state of the universe. And humans are a creation of that chaos, they are in accordance with the natural state of the universe. Order is artificial and is being created by them and us. If you would like to return the universe to a more pure state of chaos, I understand to destroy the structures, both physically and psychologically that have been constructed. But what power does a farmer's wife for example hold over these structures? Why would she have to die?”

A certain tension had crept up Zargothrax’ spine, and Ralathor could see in his eyes the real reluctance to even answer him, knowing full well, that in this context, even answering now, in the wrong ears, could be a damning confession. That Ralathor was even considering these questions, maybe already proof enough for some. Chaos _wasn't_ a forbidden subject to discuss as it was an integral part of the life time had created, but it was all about context and intention.

And yet he said, “Maybe she wouldn’t have to, surely not in your understanding of chaos. But there is the problem. Chaos theory, unlike the Galactic Order, is no monolith. It’s wizards like you and me thinking just a moment too long, having been wronged in some way or holding a grudge against the circle, all arriving at their own conclusion, but all finding shelter under the same banner. Because once they act up against Mezchinhar, or once they let chaos into their mind, it's the only place they can go, the only place they are safe from Mezchinhar's judgment.

Some of them probably think like you, some of them may just want to tear it all down, some may despise Order so much they have to keep tearing, because - Order is, in a way, a natural occurrence, too, even though it has to be created. It evolves, again and again, you can crush it, but it will form again because living beings are drawn to it like moths to a flame. To keep that eternal state of chaos you’d have to set the universe on fire and continuously kindle that flame with a relentless onslaught of destruction.” Zargothrax spoke quietly as if he thought someone could be listening, and Ralathor felt it too. The sudden feeling as if the mere fact that they were talking about it was wrong. Which was a terrible sensation. 

“So, the wife of your farmer most likely wouldn’t have to die but will do so anyway. May it be out of rage or joy of killing. May it be intentional or collateral damage. If you fight Order with Chaos, everything dies.”

"But why? To what end?" Ralathor asked, desperately trying to put a sense to this idea of unlimited destruction.

"Freedom maybe? From the circle, from Order - from Mazichnhar's iron fist rule over our little part of the multiverse. After all, keeping this endless fight going is the only thing they can do." 

Zargothrax ended his explanation, for a moment he seemed to want to add something else, but he stayed silent. The gaze with which he mustered Ralathor now heavy. Almost painful before he barely shook his head to himself, standing upright again, turning halfway away from Ralathor. 

“I hate what this does to me.” 

“What do you mean?” Ralathor asked, but somehow he felt he knew exactly what he meant. Had seen it in his face as clear as it must have been on his own earlier. 

“I now look at you and wonder if they will turn you against me, wonder if you ask me these questions just to give them the proof they want. And I know it isn’t so, because you’re the one single last wizard in this mess that I’d trust with my life. And yet my own thoughts seemed to turn against me.” 

“I know.” 

With a grim frown, Zargothrax looked back at him, the pain of the realization that he wasn’t the only one feeling this way was clear in his face. Then he said,

“I promise you I would never do anything to bring you any harm.”

Zargothrax' voice was filled with so much honesty, and yet it barely covered the frustration of feeling it necessary to even say it. It felt almost silly.

“I appreciate that." Ralathor tried to give his words a little smile and failed. "In turn let me try to calm your worries too, and promise you that I won't betray you.” 

And maybe these words would help. Most likely not much, as thoughts were a fickle thing to control, but they had been said and said honestly, and it was good. Just a little soothing drop of water on a heated stone.

“Very well.” Zargothrax took a deep breath, doing his best to let his voice be steady and tone firm. “Let us try to bring this awful business behind us as soon as possible. Tell me what you found out and let’s try to locate this troublesome wizard.”

Ralathor nodded. He would like that very much. Just be done with this already, return to how things had been.


End file.
